The beginning of love is a strange thing. You're sitting on your favorite seat, directly under the only fan in the class, wondering once again since the past two weeks you began uni, why they put only one fan in that class of about 80 persons.

Suddenly, you're dragged out of your thinking bubble, someone just entered the class. A new face; looking straight into the class almost as if it wasn't his first time there, but you know that look too well, that straight face that concealed all your curiosity and unease in a new environment just to keep your steeze intact.

You keep looking, not because his shirt wasn't tucked in, nor because his head was scraped clean to the scalp. No. You keep looking because his pink lips was just as you dreamt last night like all other nights, because his steps as he walked to the empty seats at the back forced your heart beat into resonance with it; you keep looking because you just couldn't take your eyes away from whom your heart skipped for the moment he walked through the door.

Thankfully, the lecturer’s voice made you blink and look down to bring out your textbooks. Through the lecture, you're thinking of his name, where he came from, how old he was, why he resumed so late, just a fortnight away from exams. You didn't notice when the normally dreadful 2 hours of anatomy lecture faded into idle noisy classmates and the lecturer was already 30 minutes into his next class just adjacent yours. You are brought back to life by a classmate urging you to pick the letter her boyfriend threw towards her. How I wish he was my boyfriend and he would throw me letters too, was the thought that sneaked immediately into your head.

‘He’ was obviously the new boy, the one you didn't know his name, sitting alone at the back. No surprise. He was just new and didn't have any friends, but still you were confused. Couldn't they see that handsome face? Didn't they hear that voice that felt so ethereal when he told the curious lecturer that he was actually new? Maybe it was the subtle frown plastered on his face that made no one approach him; but you liked the frown, subtle yet hiding a million mysteries, and would surely melt into the most wonderful smiles as he merged slowly but surely into his new class. No way you were going to allow him wallow in loneliness.

From the seed of love sprouts the seedling of curiosity, and yours was growing quickly. Your questions are like the endless sparks that form the sun, burning your bed as you lay on it, sleepless. ‘What is he doing now?’ ‘Should I talk to him tomorrow?’ ‘Is he a serious student or one of those forced to come or he's just here to cruise?’ Is he really a quiet person?’

And even the more perverted questions: ‘What does he feel like?’ ‘How does he [a lot redacted]?

The next day, he's still sitting alone and you’ve made up your mind. But to keep your ‘hard girl’ image, you needed a bit of wisdom. You stand up and begin moving towards the window at the back–or at least, that's what you wanted people to think–making sure to pass by where he sat. By a stroke of luck, you hit a chair you absolutely didn't see on the way, the chair he was sitting on. Your pen lands on him as you struggle to find balance.

“Sorry” he said. Was that a new word? You ask yourself, because you couldn't understand why your mind went blank when he said that. There was no meaning, only that angelic voice resounded in your head, sapping your legs of power. You fell. For real this time. You groan as you touch your leg just above your ankle where you felt your skin invaded by a sharp cold feel. Blood.

“You were scratched!” You hear his voice again and for a moment forget the pain. He was bending down now, with a tissue paper. You wonder if he always had one with him. You wonder if he had taken a course on how to clean off blood on a wounded damsel; that would explain his skillful touch and movements. You wonder what you had to pay to make what you felt at that moment eternal: his hands on your skin separated by a thin fascia of paper, still you could feel it and it was a wonder….

The seedling of love opens up leaves of unimaginable new things. Since he told you his name, a million shocking things had happened. It was unimaginable that you would ask for a boy’s number first, even if it was after he helped you up from a fall. It was unimaginable that you would stop seating in front, under your favorite fan, and instead begin seating at the back. Even worse, it was near a boy you would gist and laugh with every day.

Pamela would never have thought you would stop your daily 6pm bestie gist with her because you got a boyfriend. And it was even most unimaginable that you would agree to date anyone, not after garnering the reputation of the only untouchable babe in class. You surprised yourself the day you stood with Jake under that beautiful flame of the forest tree in your school’s garden and asked him to be your boyfriend. You never imagined yourself agreeing to becoming a boy's girlfriend, let alone being the one to ask.

It was rare that the love between you two lasted through school. You still remember the disbelief when he went on his knees, under the cool breeze of the Akure forest reserve, brought out that red tiny box that you still keep, took the ring and asked you the question. And now, twenty years later, you have three kids and your son is asking you what love is and how it feels, and you know it is different for many people, so you tell him what love was for you.

“I never knew you were such a romantic, mom” I sighed.

“I need to hear father's story.”